


Five Hundred More

by listentothewordsyousay



Series: Five Hundred Miles [2]
Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 11:52:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 4,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17828036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/listentothewordsyousay/pseuds/listentothewordsyousay
Summary: Because I would walk five hundred miles... and then I'd walk five hundred more.





	1. Chapter 1

Over the sea and far away, Claire existed in an ocean of guilt. She berated herself for getting carried away, thinking that she could find love in the middle of a warzone. Memories of flashing lights and sticky dance floors haunted her and made her cringe; was she really so vain and vapid? She had never been one of that crowd, out for a good time and damn the rest of them.

Confronted with the resettlement paperwork, she felt even more ashamed. No career. No qualifications. ‘I was married,’ she tried to explain, feeling painfully inadequate as the female lawyer lifted an eyebrow.

‘To Jamie?’ John Grey had asked, looking baffled. She felt her skin burn with embarrassment. ‘Erm, no. I met Jamie in June.'

‘I see,’ he had answered politely. She wondered what version of the tale he did see; his soft-hearted friend being taken in by some sort of hussy who had got herself pregnant, married him and had made off to Canada with all of his money, leaving him to his fate in Scotland?

She played the events of their story over and over again in her mind. The day he had found her, and told her she was staying with him, like it or not. That made her laugh, the stubborn Scot. The night he had wept in her arms when Edinburgh was bombed. They had lain together underneath the stars, in a state of worried intimacy, before he had confessed that he wanted to kiss her. The night that they had reached Glasgow, when they had kissed on the dancefloor, in the street, in the stairwell, before going straight to bed.

She thought of his body, so beautifully made. She loved his shoulders, broad enough to surround her completely, the way his arms held her with the promise of gentleness while the rest of his body burned with lust. His hands, big, calloused and frequently sporting gashes and cuts, able to make her whole body quiver with the stroke of a fingertip. 

She missed his voice, the way he rolled his rs and missed out whole syllables, or planted extra ones in words like poem. Poyum, he had said. It’s a poyum, She had laughed until the tears came to her eyes, while he pretended to be insulted. She had never laughed so much in bed with a man. It had never felt so normal to be naked in anyone else’s bed.

She lay now in her own cold bed, her hands placed gently on her abdomen, relying on her memories to try and warm her soul. She loved him. She had loved him. He loved her. He had loved her. He had loved their child, aware of its existence before she had been. She repeated it all like a mantra to herself, trying to believe in the present tense and not be consumed by the past.


	2. Chapter 2

She was absolutely certain he was dead. She was no longer able to watch the news and tried to ban herself from Googling. It was no use; she was drawn like a magnet to articles which listed lost life after lost life, atrocity after atrocity. He wasn’t mentioned anywhere.

He had meant to die; he had told her so, he saw no other solution. That was why he had arranged her new identity card, marking her as his wife without a wedding, and somehow made arrangements with John Gray to have her transported here. 

John was as tall as Jamie, but slim and dark, rather than broad and fair. She had been surprised to hear his accent, as plummy as her own, having assumed that he would be Scottish too. ‘We went to university together,’ he had said, nonplussed that his best friend’s wife had not known that her husband had gone to university nor that her husband even had a best friend. She had felt the shame crawl up from the pit of her stomach again.

She mourned his loss and the loss of the times they should have had together. Had they ever spoken about his family? He had briefly mentioned a sister, she thought. She should know. He should have known about her mother and father, about her beloved Uncle Lamb.

She mourned for their family, gone before it had even begun. There could be no family house, family dog, days out and proud moments. She had finally begun to believe in the baby. Her body no longer belonged to her, but to the flutters and taps that had grown into wriggles and waves of motion.

She wept at times with fear; he would have had such high expectations for his baby. She hadn’t a clue what to do with infants. She imagined him cradling a tiny bundle in his big hands, pushing a pram and reading stories. He would have brought his children up properly. They would be well-mannered but charming, precocious without being irritating, academic and sporty, good at everything. He’d have been proud of them, proud of her.

She pounded her first against the pillow in a rage of helplessness. The inhabitant of her uterus stretched lazily against their cocoon and she paused, remembering the midwife’s advice. Calm. It was important to stay calm. She rubbed the bump gently and started to sing. ‘Let me tell you that I love him, and that I think about him all the time…’


	3. Chapter 3

She dreamed of him that night. He was beside her in bed, looking at her as if she had hung the stars and the moon. The dull pain in her lower back had disappeared as he held her in his arms. They were so close, their baby cradled between them as he crooned in Gaelic. The peace in her soul was overwhelming, shattered only by the sudden recognition of the pain.

She grimaced and pressed her face into the pillow. A first birth takes a long time, said the midwife. Try and sleep in the early stages. You’ll need your strength for later. She took a deep breath, trying to summon Jamie back to her.

After an hour it was too much. She walked laps round her apartment, bracing herself on furniture as the stronger pains rippled through the dull ache. She could tell by the changing shape of her bump that the baby had turned head down; they were coming whether she liked it or not. She moaned with pain, grabbing her phone to dial a taxi.

The driver was alarmed, to say the least. ‘Is anyone with you?’ he gabbled. ‘Wait until we get there!’ She had been incapable of a reply, gasping ‘just go,’ as another, stronger contraction reared within her.

It took hours. She steadfastly refused the drugs, insisting on standing and walking around her room. The pain was an anaesthetic on its own, freeing her mind from thoughts of him. She couldn’t think of anything but the searing blazes inside her own body. In brief moments of respite she wished for him to be beside her, to have his big, strong hands to hold onto, to rest her head on his shoulder. She was so tired.

‘I can’t do this,’ she announced, suddenly clear and coherent after hours of low groans. ‘I’m going home.’ The sweat ran down her face and body in drops. ‘Get me my bag, please. I’ve changed my mind.’ She lifted one foot at a time, trying to relieve the ache in her legs. She felt a gentle hand on her back. ‘You can do it,’ promised the midwife. ‘Not long to go. Lie down.’

Her body roared at the thought of lying down; the primal instincts within her were shouting at her to sink down on her knees. She braced herself against the side of the bed, holding her hands together like a prayer, and pushed. She felt a slippery rush of something amid searing, agonising pain. ‘Here they come!’ someone’s voice said. She was praying aloud now, feeling a body pass through her own, praying for it to be over.

The squeals of a newborn rose through the air like the song of a bird at sunrise.

She, for she was a girl, was placed on Claire’s chest. She had imagined herself crying, but her soul seemed at peace. It was as if she knew the tiny creature cuddling into her. She traced her daughter’s long nose, kissed her forehead and stroked the red wisps of hair. ‘Hello, my darling. It’s mummy.’


	4. Chapter 4

Eilidh was her radiant one, her beautiful little Scottish Helen. After all of the worry and concern, she was blessedly healthy, latched on to feed easily and certainly had a strong set of lungs.

Claire was happy. She found solace in the rituals of feeding, bathing and singing and discovered a joy she thought she had lost when Eilidh looked at her and smiled gummily, or raised her chubby arms for a cuddle.

John Gray had practically melted at the sight of the red haired, blue eyed bundle and was thoroughly devoted to her. He arrived every weekend armed with baby books and toys. Claire grew to appreciate his visits, and appreciated the elderly Scottish lady he had employed as her ‘housekeeper’ even more.

Mrs Graham was a stout, grey-haired lady who had raised five babies of her own and brought a good dose of old fashioned Scottish practicality into the apartment. She cooked, cleaned and cuddled Eilidh on demand, pushed Claire into the shower and insisted she slept after a long night of feeding.

Her daughter was flourishing, Claire could see that. Strangers cooed over the beautiful blue eyed baby, who learned to smile and wave as soon as she realised her own charm. They were both strong and healthy, and they were safe.

In the twilight hours her soul wept for Jamie. She whispered stories of brave men to Eilidh as she slept. She kissed her nose and cheeks, once from her, once from Jamie. Every now and again, the baby’s resemblance to her father was so strong that Claire felt the painful rush of grief again. She would half-laugh, half-cry, her heart torn between her past and this little one’s future.

On nights when Eilidh slept in her cot, and her own bed was big and cold, she allowed herself to imagine the moment. The knock on the door. She would open it and he would be there. Sometimes she thought that he’d be the picture of health, ready to fling his arms around her and cuddle his baby girl in close. Sometimes she pictured him tired, and recovering from injuries. There would be slow walks in the park, and homemade soup, and perhaps he would have to have a walking stick, and she would help him build up his strength.

But the news, when it came, wasn’t like that at all.

 

 

Eilidh is the Scottish equivalent of Helen, and means ‘radiant one’. It is pronounced like Kayleigh, without the K.


	5. Chapter 5

The apartment buzzer rang. As she pressed the button, an incoherent gabble came down the line. It was only the accent that gave him away, for she had never heard John Grey lose his composure.

He rushed up the stairs like a madman, his tie askew and every hair on his head out of place. He was a remarkable shade of red, decidedly sweaty and gasping for breath.

She heard her own voice gasp as her ears somehow identified his name. Jamie. Jamie. Jamie! The blood roared in her ears and knees buckled.

‘He’s alive?’ she gasped, grabbing John’s hands. They trembled as much as her own.

He was beginning to get his breath back. ‘He’s alive. He’s in hospital. It’s…. bad. It’s not good, Claire.’ 

The roaring and buzzing in her ears had finally stopped. She took a deep breath. ‘Is he coming?’

‘He’s coming. They think he’ll be strong enough in around a week.’

The reality of a week slashed through her euphoria. ‘A week, John?’

He looked serious. ‘He’s…. he’s still weak.’ She had nodded and pressed her hand over her mouth. ‘But he’s coming.’

She flung her arms around John, staining his already crumpled suit with tears. ‘Thank God. Thank God.’

—————————-

It was inevitable that the week passed more slowly than she had ever thought possible. Mrs Graham helped her to clean the apartment from top to bottom, and as Scottish women are wont to do in times of great stress, made pot after pot of tea. John dealt with the legal paperwork and the medical transfers, updating Claire hourly on the repatriation agreements. Eilidh, seemingly sensing the unease in the air, resisted any attempt from Claire to put her down or give her to anyone else to hold.

The night before Jamie arrived, Claire lay on her side, watching their daughter’s chest slowly rise up and down. The baby slept with her hands raised in fists above her head, the profile of her face just visible in the gloom.

‘Daddy’s coming,’ she whispered to her, tears running down her face. ‘He’s coming.’


	6. Chapter 6

Claire threw her hairbrush across the room in utter disgust. There was no disguising the bags under her eyes and her hair had gone from bad to worse as she had tossed and turned. She turned in the mirror, running her hands over her jeans. She had had the figure of a supermodel when he had last seen her.

Because you were starving. You were in a warzone, the sensible part of her brain hissed. He’s not going to care.

Her stomach churned again. John would be here soon and it would be time. She smeared moisturiser onto her cheeks and sighed.

What if he really didn’t care?

John and Claire sheltered in the stairwell of the helipad together, gazing intently at the cloudy sky. A team of doctors and nurses were assembled, with a variety of implements and a stretcher. She felt ill. How bad was he? The trembling in her hands started again, as John pointed up.

She braced herself as the doors opened and the medics rushed out. Gathering her courage, she lifted herself up on tiptoe to look past John. A stretcher was being passed out. Blankets, arms, drips, oxygen. She dug her fingernails into John’s arms, ignoring his yelp.

The medics pulled the stretcher closer, ready to bring him into the hospital. She felt like everything was moving at triple speed. Her ears and legs had stopped working, yet suddenly she was peering over at him.

He was so thin. There were new lines around his eyes and his mouth was set firmly, as if he was in pain. She moaned and covered her mouth with her hands. ‘Oh, Jamie!’

His eyes opened at the sound of his name, searching around the elevator. She leaned over the bedrail, willing him to see her. The blue orbs fixed on her and he seemed to sigh. The lines almost disappeared as his mouth curved under his oxygen mask and he looked straight at her, for the first time in a year.

‘Jamie,’ she gasped. ‘It’s me. I’m here. I love you.’


	7. Chapter 7

She hadn’t understood how ill he had been. She was fairly sure that John and the doctors were still not telling her the truth of his injuries, but she listened intently to the surgeon’s explanation of skin grafts and permanent scarring. Another doctor spoke in gentle tones about the mental impact of what he had gone through. He was heavily sedated at the moment, they said, and they were going to slowly wean him into consciousness. It would take time, was the phrase they kept using.

She fell into a new routine. Eilidh wasn’t allowed in the intensive care unit, tearing Claire in two. She was loath to leave Jamie’s bedside and even more reluctant to leave her blue eyed baby. As she sat beside him and stroked his hand, she spoke of their child and longed for him to reply, to ask eager questions and to count down the time until he could see her. His fingers had been bandaged at first, but now the newly healed scars were open for her to trace, wondering what hell he had gone through.

She spent an hour every morning and an hour every evening by his bedside, her memories merging with this new picture of a bruised, injured warrior. The nerves within her stomach and the voices in her head would torment her. ‘He’s forgotten you,’ they would whisper. ‘It was a fling, a mad moment of relief.’ She tortured herself with visions of him asking who she was, her choking out that they had a daughter, him refusing to believe her.

When a hoarse voice cracked out her name, she thought her chair had creaked, until it happened again. She leapt to her feet beside him. ‘It’s me,’ she said shyly, painfully aware that this was it, this was the moment. ‘I’m here.’

‘I’ve… I’ve seen you so many times… but you’re never real,’ he whispered.

‘I’m real,’ she pleaded. ‘I’m here, Jamie. I love you.’ She laced her fingers through his and stroked his hair. ‘His chest heaved with the effort of speaking. ‘Don’t… ever… leave me again,’ he croaked, making an effort to tilt his head and look at her. ‘I’m never leaving you again, Jamie.’ He smiled woozily, before drifting back into sleep.

The shyness had returned the next morning, as she came through the doorway into his room. He was awake. She wiped her hands on her jeans, not sure whether to try and hug him, or just to sit down. He said her name, and repeated it. ‘Claire. C’mere. Kiss me.’

She had tentatively pressed her lips to his cheek, restraining herself from flinging herself down on top of him. She stood up and licked her lips shyly. ‘I love you Jamie.’

He smiled and stretched his hand out to her. ‘I love you too.


	8. Chapter 8

‘Can you say Daddy?’ Claire cooed, pulling the fresh cotton tshirt over Eilidh’s head. Eilidh giggled as her head popped out. ‘There you are!’ Claire smoothed down the curl that twirled around her little ear and kissed her forehead. ‘Daddy. Your turn. Daaaa-ddy.’

Jamie had singlehandedly charmed the nurses into breaking the rules and allowing Eilidh to visit her daddy. From the minute Claire had taken a deep breath and whispered Eilidh’s name to him, he had pushed himself up straighter, gritted his teeth and willed himself to heal.

‘If…. if you’ll have me?’ he had said awkwardly, staring at his IV drip.

Claire had gaped at him. ‘I thought you wouldn’t have us.’

He lifted his eyes to look into her soul. ‘It’s always been forever for me, Sassenach.’

Her old nickname had made her laugh through tears.

She hoisted Eilidh a little higher on her hip and opened the ward door before she lost her nerve. Jamie was sitting up on his chair. The expression on his face made her heart ache; part hope, part fear, part joy, part sorrow. Her breath caught and she felt the tears gather at the corner of her eyes. She sat down in the chair beside him and leaned in to kiss him softly. ‘This is Eilidh.’

She turned Eilidh so that she was looking at her daddy. The baby looked quizzically up at the man who looked so like her. She laughed, launched into a babble and waved a chubby hand, before looking straight up at him, blue eyes meeting blue. The tears were flowing down his cheeks in rivers. ‘Can I hold her, Claire?’

She carefully placed the baby in his lap, tilting her so that she could see both her mummy and her daddy. Eilidh smiled again, turned closer to Jamie and laid her head against his chest. 

And that, quite simply, was that.

Mrs Graham, in her infinite wisdom, kept Eilidh at home on a Friday. At first, Claire had felt strangely worried about seeing Jamie alone, and a little deflated when his first and second questions were ‘Where is she? Is she alright?’. But his next statement was ‘You’re very beautiful today, Sassenach,’ and she had felt the glow return.

One Friday they busted out to a restaurant around the corner. They had held hands like giddy teenagers and kissed at their table. The darkness of the previous year had dissipated slowly, with Eilidh’s birth and Jamie’s return. Now, as she sat with him in the sun, she felt as if her heart was finally functioning again.

And so she took the next step, twined her fingers between his and said the words: ‘When you come home…’


	9. Chapter 9

He came home with a walking stick, an impressive selection of prescription medication and a confusion of feelings in his heart. He wanted this, he always had, he loved Claire and Eilidh, but he couldn’t let them down. The possibility of fear and anger lay in his stomach like a stone.

He had awkwardly offered to sleep somewhere else. Claire had fixed her eyes on him and pouted, making him mentally note that he had to ask his doctor about the specifics of strenuous activity.

So now he stood, at the door of the apartment, praying to his God and to all of the saints that he could do this, be normal, be a good dad and a good husband… that this new future was one he could live in. The door swung open and he practically fell into Claire’s arms.

‘Welcome home,’ she whispered, gently drawing her tongue along his lips. He kissed her back, tangling one hand in her hair and pulling her closer with the other.

He gently touched the tip of her nose with his own. ‘I am so grateful to be here Claire. I love you so much.’

She looked straight up at him, her golden eyes clear and wise. ‘I love you too.’

They ate dinner together at the table, before Claire took Eilidh to feed her and Jamie washed up, feeling absurdly thrilled at accomplishing the mundane task. He came to sit on the sofa, feeling huge and awkward. ‘This is your house, Jamie,’ she said gently.

‘It’s…. not easy,’ he admitted.

She looked at him over Eilidh’s red hair. ‘I know. It took me a while.’

He smiled ruefully at her. ‘I didn’t think that the future would be like this, that day I found you. I never thought we could have this.’

She shifted Eilidh and kissed her head. ‘I didn’t even feel lucky at first. I was so afraid, Jamie.’

‘You’re doing so well, Sassenach,’ he said honestly. She felt her eyes prickling. ‘Don’t make me cry,’ she said, her voice wobbling. ‘Not on your first night home.’

He limped over to kiss her head and put his arms around both of his girls, kissing her cheek. ‘We’ll do the next bit together,’ he whispered.

Together, they bathed Eilidh. Jamie marvelled at her strong, chubby legs and roared laughing at her hair, which curled into a pixie quiff when it was wet. He proved to be a dab hand at dressing wriggly babies, laughing with delight when he reached the final button. Eventually, he laid the sleepy baby down in her cradle, kissed her head and whispered a prayer over her. 

Then he tiptoed out of the room to find his wife.


	10. Chapter 10

Home

Claire was lying on the sofa, her arms above her head. She turned to look at him as he came back into the living room and tilted her chin. ‘Cuddle?’

He groaned as he eased himself behind her, at once desperate to wrap his arms around her and wary of invading her personal space. She wiggled back into him, making him laugh and pull her closer.

‘You’re bigger than I remembered,’ she said quietly. ‘You’re a little smaller, I think,’ he said, stroking her arm gently.

She snorted. ‘No way. I’m definitely bigger. You should have seen me pregnant.’

‘I wish I had done,’ he whispered. ‘You’re even more beautiful.’

It had started to rain. The drops pelted off the apartment windows and rolled down the glass. ‘It rained the last time we did this,’ he said. ‘Beside the fire.’

‘I remember.’ She rolled to lie on her back, looking up at him.

He lifted a hand and ran a finger over the neckline of her shirt. She smiled and gave his old words back to him. ‘I want to kiss you.’

It worked; he lowered himself to lie on top of her, smiling as she opened her mouth to let his tongue in.

‘You can’t touch my boobs,’ she said regretfully. ‘They leak.’

She meant for him to laugh, but his eyes turned dark blue and serious. ‘I have… my…. my back isn’t good either.’

She lifted her hands as if they were burning him. ‘Am I hurting you?’

‘No, it’s just….. the way it looks.’

‘I don’t care,’ she said honestly. ‘As long I don’t hurt you.’

‘I don’t want you to be afraid,’ he said hollowly. ‘When you see it.’

With one hand, she turned his face so that he was looking into her eyes, placing one finger on his lips.

‘Jamie. You are all I need, and all I will ever need.’

‘We’ll go slow,’ he said, translating her words into her emotions.

She nuzzled back into him. ‘One step at a time.’


End file.
